


bedroom hymns

by boycoffin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Catharsis, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Forgiveness, Hannibal Lecter Has Feelings, Late Night Conversations, M/M, One Shot, Podfic & Podficced Works, Post-Finale, Settled Down & Safe, Short & Sweet, Timeline What Timeline, Understanding, and i love when they mutually acknowledge how their actions have fucked each other up, but are still here for it 1000 percent, listen they're both very troubled people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boycoffin/pseuds/boycoffin
Summary: Years after their respective incarcerations in BSHCI, Will and Hannibal reflect upon how they ended up there, and the hitherto unspoken gulf that divided their shared experience.





	bedroom hymns

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written something short (or standalone!) in a long time, and this was an experiment to see if i could still make it work and not turn everything into a huge production
> 
> and speaking of production, here's the audio:  
> [gdrive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/11ru4jYnzFb3WtQBL0ShaDTV2VXSM6ZeF/view?usp=sharing)  
> [filehosting](https://www.filehosting.org/file/details/775944/bedroom%20hymns%20\(oneshot\).mp3)

_…oubliettes, named for forgetting, bottle-shaped cells in solid rock with the trapdoor in the top. Nothing escapes from them quietly to ease us._

There is a strange feeling of premonition that can come to you in sleep. Not on the coattails of a dream—simply a fleeting instant, a conviction you cannot shake, until in its subtle way, it shakes you into wakefulness. That was how Will became aware again, eyes bleary against the dark, and turned to look beside him.

Voice hoarse from sleep, Will sounded almost foreign to himself. 'Have you not slept?'

'No,' said Hannibal. He was on his back, fingers laced together, looking upwards at some vaulted ceiling in a distant room. 'I will soon, I think.'

Will shifted to drape his arm across him, not fully an embrace due to the angles; he cupped Hannibal's arm on the far side of his body, cradling his elbow as if to keep it from bumping into something in the darkness. 'You're lying at attention, you know.'

Hannibal seemed to make a conscious effort to relax, and he took slow, measured breaths and held them briefly before each exhalation. It was a waltz's leisurely progression of in and out: _one two-three, one two-three._ Some nights, Will would fall asleep to that pattern of breathing, knowing that Hannibal was trying to be present while his mind was somewhere else. One of the darkened rooms with cold corners that made your heart clench with fear, or those too harshly-lit, so that you couldn't hide from anyone, not even yourself.

'I am a spoiled man, Will.'

'Well, yeah,' said Will, with an amused little huff. Sometimes gentle teasing could alleviate the mood that clung to the air around them—but not, it seemed, tonight. 'What brought this to mind?'

'You know that scent is linked most strongly to memory,' said Hannibal.

Will just ran his thumb over the back of Hannibal's joined hands, back and forth, letting him gather his thoughts.

'Today in the village, someone passed me,' Hannibal went on. 'A workman, of sorts, on a bicycle. He had a leather bag of tools tied to the back of the seat.'

'I think I've seen him before, myself,' said Will.

 Hannibal closed his eyes. When he spoke, there was something that disrupted the usual timbre of his voice, a muted quality, like he had a lump in his throat. Will had only heard him sound that way on a handful of occasions, but they were noteworthy ones. 'A particular scent clung to him,' said Hannibal, 'one I did not wish to remember.'

'What was it?' said Will, then added quickly, 'I mean, if I can ask.'

_'Stachybotrys chartarum,_ ' said Hannibal.

'I… don't know what that is, off the top of my head.'

'Black mold.'

Will's sensory recall snapped into action, at that, and he could almost taste the cloying, earthy press of it in the back of his throat.

'It was particularly present in the lower cells, where I once visited you,' said Hannibal. 'There were only cursory efforts to eradicate it.'

'Yeah,' was all Will said in reply.

They were silent for a while, wrapped up in thoughts of the same place, but many rooms apart. Will knew Hannibal hadn't fallen asleep, because his breaths still kept that perfect, intentional time signature.

'It took so little to dehumanize me,' Hannibal said at last. He didn't sound bitter, but Will was familiar enough with the subtleties of his voice to recognize the barest hint of shame. (Will thought it clashed with the rest of him, and should be done away with.) 'I suppose that can tell you how human I felt to start with. But I was allowed to leverage my cooperation for privileges even then; you were given no such opportunities, despite being held for far fewer crimes.'

Will scoffed a bit, but held him a little tighter, wanting to somehow convey that he wasn't bitter, either, not in the way one might expect. Not about that, at least. 'You're rich. Well-spoken. That's the system for you.'

'Yet you had your nigh-miraculous insight,' Hannibal pointed out. He opened his eyes and turned his head just a little, glancing at Will in the thin stripe of moonlight that pried through the curtains. 'They could have dangled treats for you far more than they did.'

'You had your own sort of insight,' said Will. 'One I couldn't really provide, no matter the…' he looked away briefly, then looked back, 'incentives.'

Will watched Hannibal's throat move as he swallowed. 'I watched you suffer, and I was pleased.'

'You made quite the show of not being pleased,' said Will, but he'd known. How could he not have known? It had been clear in every line of Hannibal's face.

'I found your mistreatment diverting,' said Hannibal. His voice still had that peculiar quality, under the conversational lilt that covered it like an ill-fitting veil. 'I wondered what it would do to you, how you might twist out of its way, or lean towards it. When one is starved of touch, even being struck can feel like relief.'

'You know what it did to me,' said Will, without ire. 'And what I tried to make it do to you. What did you think about, when you were in there? You always talk around it—I doubt you can turn on your whole, I don't know, mind palace walkthrough like flipping a switch, can you?'

'I was allowed music, and enough of a stage upon which to play out the scenes I preferred. Given the right combination of stimuli, I could submerge.'

'Maladaptive daydreaming is common among those who've suffered trauma,' Will noted, unnecessarily save for the desire to convey that he understood. 'Or with certain conditions.'

Hannibal unlaced his fingers, and put one hand over Will's, over his own. 'There was never a time I regretted my choice.'

'Really?'

'Not once.'

Will moved closer and closed the narrow space between them, resting his head against the curve of Hannibal's neck and shoulder, on the same pillow. He felt sleep dragging at him with its heavy fingers, coaxing him back. 'What would you have done if I'd found _your_ mistreatment diverting?'

When he answered, Will could hear the faint smile in his voice. 'I would have rejoiced.'

There was a time when that sort of answer would have made Will want to snap some acerbic rejoinder, but not here, not anymore. They were far from those troubled waters, now, and memories of the past only seemed to accentuate their present peace.

'Goodnight, sweetheart,' said Will, and closed his eyes.


End file.
